ROOTED IN LOVE â—½ HOME
Something my son and I enjoy doing together is making Texas persimmon jelly. If you don’t know what Texas persimmons are, don’t worry! I had never heard of them until a few years ago either. They’re dark brownish-blackish berries that grow in the summer on bushes all around the ranch where we live. They’re pretty hideous looking, to be honest, and they are filled with lots of seeds, so eating them isn’t that pleasant. But picking them is a lot of fun (especially for my 7-year-old country boy), and they actually make really yummy jelly.
We like to go out with a big bowl and pick as many berries as we can, usually gathering a couple liters in less than an hour. Then comes the work of making juice, which is super messy, and we have to be careful because the dark brown liquid stains whatever it splashes on. In fact, this juice has been used historically as dye. Smushing up the berries and straining them into juice typically takes us about an hour. Then we usually wait a day and tackle the even bigger job of turning the juice into jelly. A lot goes into it, from boiling to canning, and it takes us half a day to finish the job. Most of the time, we end up with a bunch of jars full of delicious (albeit ugly) wild Texas persimmon jelly.
Now, recently, I was talking with the kids about how the Bible tells us (in Romans 5:3-5) that perseverance produces character. How facing trials helps us to grow and rely on God’s strength. How we learn to trust Him through the way we handle obstacles. And in a brilliant display of God’s providential timing, I was gifted with a real life opportunity to live this out that very same day.
We had just made a batch of our persimmon jelly, coming up with 10 jars full of the yummy stuff. Between picking the berries, making the juice, and then making the jelly, it had taken us the better part of two days. Then, after waiting a day for the jelly to set, I was ready to label the jars and put them up for later. But as I was looking at them, I noticed the jelly looked a little too sloshy in the jars. Not good. Then I realized one of the jars didn’t seal properly, so I went ahead and opened it to see how the jelly turned out. Well, it was just as I had feared. It wasn’t even jelly. It was just a thick liquid that poured right out of the jar.
I was annoyed. Disappointed. Frustrated. What a waste of our time, energy, and resources! What a pain in the rear. Not to mention, my son was disappointed too. We’d done everything the same as usual, except I’d bought a different type of pectin than usual, which apparently wasn’t compatible with our recipe.
I have to admit, this put me in somewhat of a sour mood. It was tempting to throw my hands up and say, “Whatever! I quit!” Because who wants to do all that work for nothing? But our conversation about perseverance echoed through my mind, and I knew we had to try again. We couldn’t let one bad batch take the fun out of something we enjoy.
So I added “canning jar lids” and “pectin” to my grocery list for next time we went to town. And then we got our bowl and headed outside to pick persimmons. And guess what? It was hot and steamy outside, and I was still upset about our ruined jelly, but it was quality time with my son as we walked and talked and picked. As we were tromping around filling our bowl, I smiled at him and said, “Well bubba, on the bright side, we get to spend two days together making jelly again.” And he looked up at me with a big grin, because spending time together is all that really matters to him. The jelly is just a bonus.
Sometimes perseverance means going through major life changes or pushing through difficult circumstances. Other times it simply means making another batch of jelly even though you have a thousand other things to do. Whatever the case, it produces character, and character produces hope. And hope is a beautiful thing.